


I See Right Through You

by dance_tilyouredead



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone is queer af, F/F, Ghost Lexa Raven Anya and Octavia, Happy Endings are my thing, I promise, So Much Snark, The ending will be a confetti explosion of love and happiness, This is a love story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_tilyouredead/pseuds/dance_tilyouredead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lexa had held out her hand,  she'd not known that Clarke's warmth would pulse, that it would spread hotter and more persistent than a flame. Clarke burns into her and she’s never felt so connected to heart-beating life before. Not in all the many years since she died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Right Through You

My yesterdays have melted with my tomorrow and the present leaves me with no point of view.  
— _Turn My Life Down_ , Jefferson Aeroplane

 

 

Summer, 1969

Lexa winds her way through the crowd holding tight to Anya’s hand. A woman approaches them with a hazy smile, wishes them love and lays a chain of dandelions on the crown of Lexa’s head. She gives Anya a handful of daffodils and a little flag with the word love written in red paint.

She drifts away and Anya scoffs. ‘Flying high as a kite.’

‘You seen your eyes lately?’

‘Babe, I’m cool.’

Lexa laughs, takes a daffodil and threads the stem into Anya’s hair. ‘They want an end to the war, same as us.’ All around them is colour, spectacle and music. Incredible music. Lexa gets pulled into the rhythm of a circle, and she twirls, pulling Anya into her dance.

Anya withdraws from the haze too quickly, scowling at a skinny bearded boy with flowers painted on his chest. ‘Flowers aren’t going to change anyone’s mind,’ she says drawing Lexa from the circle. ‘I mean look at these flakes.’ She gestures at the crowd, mostly young, many half naked and covered in neon paint. They’re dancing and singing, all bathed in smoke and love.

Lexa is unaffected by Anya’s typically dour mood today. ‘They call it a Peaceful Affirmative Spectacle,’ Lexa explains. ‘And it could have just as much power as the cool lines your beatnik friends are laying down.’ Lexa waves her hand to encompass the crowd. ‘There must be fifteen thousand people here. Tell me there's no power in the critical mass of popular opinion.’

Anya stares at her for a moment. ‘Okay, Brain. Why are you here instead of in your senior politics class or something? You, know the classes that are getting you into college.’

'This is important. Three boys from the year above mine were drafted last week. If they can’t go to college cause of this war then why should I? If I do nothing then I might as well go find them, look them in the eye and say Go Die For Me, because that’s what they’ll be doing in Cambodia. They’re going there to die.’

Anya is proud of Lexa in her own way. ‘I raised you alright, kid.’

‘Don’t overstate. We raised each other,’ Lexa laughs. ‘Come on.’

  
In the midst of the crowd they find Lexa’s friend painting flowers and peace signs on skin. Lexa’s heart is beating faster than it should and Anya jabs an elbow into her side. ‘Who’s the fox?’

Lexa tells her to shut up. ‘Costia’s the _friend_ who invited me. Look around. A peaceful protest is on the level.’

‘Mhm. And if you end up making sweet tender peace all night long with her?’ Anya ignores Lexa’s scowl. ‘Come on, introduce me.’

  
Costia threatens Anya with a blue paintbrush when they sit in the grass beside her. Anya grabs her wrist.

‘But flowers are our most powerful weapons,’ Costia insists pressing in with her brush.

‘Flowers don’t win against guns, kid.’ Lexa almost growls at Anya’s hold on Costia’s hand and she lets go, glancing at Lexa. 'Sorry,’ she mumbles.

Costia shrugs, her smile never dimming. ‘Peace is the natural human condition, we’re here to remind people of that.’

Anya shakes her head. ‘Your eyes are wide but you still don’t see.’ Anya turns toward the monument at the centre of their protest. ‘The Man makes more profit from war, and he has got a lot of guns. I think he’s inclined to disagree with your ideas on the human condition.’

Lexa hates seeing Anya’s thoughts turning so heavy. ‘The flowers remind people we’re not here for violence. Peaceful affirmative—.’

‘Yeah yeah, affirmative acting out. Look kids it’s been real, but I gotta book.’

‘Be careful.’

‘Yeah, Little Lex. I’m just gonna go find Raven. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘You’ve already done everything,’ Lexa calls after Anya.

‘Exactly.’ Anya gives a wave and disappears.

Costia leans into Lexa’s side. ‘She’s far-out,’

  
The sun is shining bright, the sky so blue, the grass a vivid green. Costia’s black hair is so glossy like silk, that Lexa picks up some strands just to watch them fall through her fingers. There’s splotches of paint in her hair, on her hands and arms, and she’s surrounded by pots of paint in every colour Lexa could imagine. ‘So, you brought all this paint for everyone to share?’

’Some is mine, some from my cousins and neighbours, some from the art supply closet.’

Lexa laughs. ‘You stole from school?’

‘The better to share this love with all our friends.’

Her smile lights Lexa up, and the peace and happiness swelling the crowd loosens her tongue. ‘You have a lot of love to give?’ She scolds herself, imagining Anya’s smirk.

‘Oh.’ Costia leans back seeming not to hear Lexa’s careless words. ‘You’re just like a butterfly,’ She twists around, gathers a few fresh pots of paint. ‘Oh, this is gonna be so ace. Can I?’ she lifts a brush to Lexa’s eye level.

‘A butterfly?’ Costia nods then indicates butterfly wings covering both her eyes and stretched out to her temples. Her pupils are blown out to swallow the colour, she’s so close and Lexa can’t help herself. She closes her eyes, leans in and kisses her. Costia tastes as sweet as she looks and Lexa could live in the warmth of her smile.

Wolf whistles sound around them and someone yells ‘Right on, sisters!’ with another holler of ‘Peace.’. Costia giggles and Lexa jerks back, her face burning hot.

‘A butterfly?’ Costia prompts again with a smile.

Lexa lets out a shaky breath and nods. ‘Groovy.’

//

  
Autumn, 1995

‘They weren’t that bad.’ Abby keeps her eyes on the road and shrugs her shoulder without taking a hand off the wheel.

‘They were obtrusive,’ Clarke insists. ‘Reporters showing up at your damn school to talk about your ghost whisperer Mom is not winning anyone friends.’

‘Language, Clarke.’

‘Mom.’

Abby pushes her sunglasses back up on her nose. ‘Okay, fine, reporters at school have a negative impact on the relationships you have with your peer group. I get it.’

Clarke groans because she is so sick of being analysed. ‘Look, forget the text book and pay attention for a second. I don’t have any friends or anyone that I can really trust.’

‘But you’re so pretty, Clarke. You could make friends.’

‘Cause I’m blonde? Gee thanks for putting all my self worth into my appearance, Mom.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Yes I do, but you need to understand too. I can make friends but I don’t want to because I know that in three weeks or less we’re just going to pick up and move again.’ Abby shrugs with a vague sound indicating that yes, she’s probably right. ‘Dad’s not going to be there, you know.’

Abby’s shoulders tense as they always do when Clarke brings up her father. ‘I can help them,’ Abby insists.

After a moment of silence Abby relaxes again and Clarke wonders if now is the time to press her luck. ’This has to be the last time,’ she says. Abby is quiet so Clarke continues. ‘If you don’t find him on this trip we’re not going any further.’

Abby slows the car to a stop and Clarke swallows nervously. ‘It’s really that bad?’ Abby asks once the hand break has been pulled.

‘Yeah. It is, Mom. You need to stop. Dad wouldn’t want this.’

Abby sighs and rubs a hand over her face. ‘Okay, deal.’ She holds her hand up between them and Clarke shakes it with a nod.

  
A half day later they pass the sign announcing their arrival in a town called Friendship. They move past the sign too quickly to read but the population listed didn’t have nearly enough numerals involved. Abby points out details as she drives mentioning how every little shop and fishing boat, farmers-market and gazebo is ‘cute’ and ‘quaint’. Clarke would use words more like ‘boring’ and ‘hokey’, but then again so would Abby if she wasn’t wearing the happy-families mask.

On the other side of town they find the high black fence marked as the mini mansion Abby’s new client needs de-haunted. The place on the gate says Whipstaff Manor and it looks exactly like a haunted mansion should. The further up the driveway they get the more those windows look like eyes and the front entry morphs into a gaping mouth. The whole thing is perched on the edge of a cliff a hundred meters above waves which are crashing against jagged rocks. Everything about this place says _leave now_.

‘Looks like home,’ Clarke comments grimly.

‘Yes, I think it’s very homely,’ Abby ignore her sarcasm, pulls the break and steps out of the car.

‘Dr Griffin?’ A Blonde woman jumps out of a black Range Rover and rushes toward them. ‘Dr Griffin, I’m Diana Sydney.’ A man in a cheep suit follows behind her. ‘And this is Shumway,' she waves at him in a bored negligible way.

The man steps up beside her with a wide smile. ‘I’m Ms Sydney’s close, personal assistant.’

‘Okay?’ Abby holds out her hand. ‘Lovely to meet you.’

‘Likewise I’m sure.’ Dianna lets her fingertips fall into Abby’s hand for a moment before pulling away to straighten the immaculate sleeves of her pantsuit.

‘And this is my daughter, Clarke.’ Abby gestures to Clarke.

‘I’m her close, personal daughter,’ she can’t help but mock Shumway’s awkward entrance.

‘Lovely to meet you, Clarke.’ Diana grabs Clarke’s shoulder in a strange gesture of closeness.

‘Yes, lovely to meet you, Clarke.’ Shumway grabs her other shoulder making Clarke lean back.

‘Such a sweet little girl,’ Diana adds.

‘I’m seventeen,’ Clarke protests.

Neither of them hear her. ‘I can’t tell you how happy we are that you could come all the way to whipstaff.’

‘So happy,’ Shumway repeats for emphasis.

‘Ah huh.’ Clarke backs out of their hold and is immediately forgotten now the cost-cutting pleasantries are over. Clarke recognises this brand of slime ball.

‘Now,’ Diana snaps, turning back to Abby. ‘This is a very valuable piece of property. I mean, emotionally. My late father left it to me, you understand, and I will not be kept out of the magnitudes of sentimental real-estate value by a couple of spooks. How long is all this going to take? You’ll spritz some holy water, say your mumbo jumbo and be out in a jiffy?’

‘A jiffy.’ Shumway echos.

‘Well, I’m a psychologist not an Exorcist. And as with any psychological treatment it can take months, even years to—’

‘Griffin, don’t even think of mentioning that word. Days? Sure. Weeks, maybe. Months, no. Years?’ she laughs.

Clarke rolls her eyes and starts unloading her bags from the roof of the car as Abby tries to avoid the specifics of her process. ‘Some spirits do have more unfinished business than others but I’m sure after some counselling everyone will be content to—.’

‘Griffin! They say you’re the best. I’ve already had a priest and one of those ghost-hoover guys come through, I even tried knocking down the haunted shit-pile. Didn’t work. Now. Let’s talk in more today, soon and now terms okay?’ She mimes pressing the trigger on a little spray bottle. ‘Now about that spritzing situation?’

‘Well, I’ll keep you posted Ms Sydney—‘

‘Just get it done, Griffin.’ Sydney cuts her off, walks away and slips into the passenger side of her car. ’Shumway!’

‘Yeah, get it done.’ Shumway snaps another iteration before climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind him. The engine revs a few times, there’s a yelp from behind the tinted glass and then the Range Rover careens off down the driveway and onto the main road.

//

Clarke gets the lock turning with some manual effort and leads her mother through the door into their new home. Inside, she can’t hold back her awe. ‘Wow,’ she says staring up at the far away ceiling.

The foyer is more like an atrium with the ceiling high above her. The floors are incredible, painted in red and black to swirl from the centre to the walls, stairs on both sides sweeping up to a second level, all intricately carved and gilded. Plate glass windows let in the last of the afternoon light and every window, banister and fixture is layered over in art nouveau style. It’s beautiful, in a horror mansion kind of way.

‘Welcome to hell manor,’ Clarke jokes as Abby joins her.

‘Let’s get comfy,’ she says heading for the closest doorway.

Clarke lets her duffle bag, suitcase and garbage bag of clothes fall to the floor. ‘I guess I’ll get the power going.’ Clarke goes to hunt down a main power switch while Abby busies herself with unpacking the rest of their belongings from the car.

  
//

Lexa draws her head back into the room above. ‘She’s here. Oh man, she’s here.’ She starts pacing back and forth across her room. There’s a thudding downstairs, the power comes on and her room lights up. ’I’m okay, it’s okay. Maybe she’ll like me.’ Lexa concentrates on making herself visible, holding up a hand to check it worked. She tries to remember if four fingers is the right number to have and sighs because four white and translucent fingers will just have to do. ‘She might like me. But what if she doesn’t?’ Lexa shakes her head and firms her expression. ‘We’re okay.’

She crosses the space several times before she remembers that she has no feet to connect with the floor, just trailing mist. ‘Wait, who’s we? Doesn’t matter. Everything’s fine.’ She slaps a palm to her face. ‘Nothing’s fine, I’m talking to myself. I’m dead. Worse than dead, I’m freakin out.’ There’s a sound at the door and Lexa falls invisible.

‘Wow,’ Clarke says again stepping into the room. She stares around the space with a huge grin, looks over everything important and straight through Lexa. The stained glass windows, the cast iron bed frame, the curved walls and deeply moulded ceilings all make her smile grow wider.

Clarke drops her bags to the floor and turns back to the hallway. ‘Mom!’ she calls. ‘I found my room.’ She closes the door and runs to the bed, throws herself onto the covers and laughs when the springs bounce her back up again.

‘Oh no,’ Lexa whispers. She had seen Clarke on TV when the news did a segment about Dr Griffin and her paranormal psychology practice. She knew Clarke was smart and beautiful, but she’s a playful dork as well?  
  
In the TV interview Abby’s sincerity had been enough to get Lexa’s attention and then the reporter had approached her daughter. Clarke had met the camera’s lens with clear intelligent eyes and Lexa felt something click; she felt more solid and connected to the corporeal world than she had in decades.

Now Dr Griffin is here and Clarke, a living breathing human girl is sitting on her bed, fitting into Lexa’s room as if she could make the most of any space she existed in. Clarke bounces on the bed a few more times and then goes back to open her bags and unpack.

As Clarke shifts through her bags Lexa tries to give herself a pep talk. She can make herself visible for Clarke. This can work, she just needs to woman-up and be visible. _Focus_ she thinks.

Clarke pulls out a pile of t-shirts and Lexa puts herself in front of the closet thinking solid, visible thoughts. _I’ve got this_. Clarke turns without looking and as she gets within reach Lexa loses her nerve and Clarke passes straight through her with a shiver.

 

When Lexa emerges again Clarke is rifling through her bags, sorting through socks and underwear. Lexa decides to just demand that Clarke look at her rather than stand in her way. That would be less creepy right?

She opens her mouth to speak but a ball of socks flies straight for her head, slipping through her face to lodge in the back of her throat. Lexa tries and fails to keep her cool, not able to let the socks slip through her form. She feels like she’s choking and panics, spits the ball of socks out of her mouth and straight into the back of Clarke’s head.

‘Sorry.’ Lexa slaps her hand over her mouth but it’s too late. Clarke is frozen on the spot. As she begins to turn Lexa arranges her features into what she hopes is a friendly smile set in an opaque face. ’You’re Clarke.’ She holds out her hand. ‘I mean, I’m Lexa.’ Clarke looks from her hand to the translucent torso then up to Lexa’s face.

She screams. ‘Mom!’

‘Hey, hey no please don’t.’ Lexa floats away from her with both hands held up in surrender. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

Clarke is breathing fast and putting the bed between them.

‘Clarke?’ The door slams open and Lexa flies into the closet as Abby runs in with a bat held over her shoulder.

‘Mom there’s a ghost.’ She points to the space where Lexa had been a moment ago.

Abby smiles in relief. ‘That’s alright Clarke, there’s no need to be scared. You know this. Ghosts are just spirits who have unfinished business which keeps them from—.’

‘Crossing over, I know.’ Clarke shakes her head. ‘But there was a real ghost. It was see-through and lumpy, with huge eyes.’

Lexa frowns at the description then looks down to see that she does look somewhat amorphous, even child-like.

Abby leans the bat against the wall and takes a hold of Clarke’s shoulders. ‘This is an old house with lots of shadows and strange sounds. Maybe there was a bird or something.’

‘Are you kidding me? I know what I saw.’

‘Okay, let’s take a look.’ Abby starts searching around the room. She looks behind the curtains, nods and lifts up the bed covers with a flourish. ‘See not under the bed either.’ She open a dresser drawer then moves to the closet where Lexa floats, visible and feeling awkward. ‘Not in the cupboard either,’ Abby looks straight at Lexa, away, then back again in a dramatic double take.

‘Hi?’ Lexa sketches a wave.

Abby’s eyes go comically wide, she shouts even louder than Clarke, grabs her daughter by the wrist and drags her out of the room.

//

Abby drags her down the hall in a mad dash. ‘What are you doing? This is insane.’ Clarke tries to avoid the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling feeling much less panicked in the face of Abby’s terror. Abby doesn’t listen or stop running until she gets to a door, flings it open and drags Clarke inside, closing the door behind them.

Clarke finds a chain above her head and pulls it to click on the light. She looks around at the four close walls. ‘Ah, Mom? We’re hiding in a closet.’

‘Oh, right.’ Abby takes a hold of Clarke’s shoulders again. ‘Stay here. And don’t come out until I come get you.’

‘Mom?’

Abby opens the door. ’Stay here,’ she points at Clarke then closes the door, now locked, behind her.

Clarke lays her shoulder into the door but it doesn’t budge. ‘Abby, seriously?’

//

Lexa stares at the empty bed, banging her fist into the side of her head. It doesn’t hurt but there’s a satisfaction in the sound she can generate. ‘So stupid,’ she says again. She thinks she was smart before she died but can’t be sure. She feels pretty stupid now. ‘What were you thinking?’ She tries slamming her head against the bed frame instead. ‘Just sneaking up on her in the middle of the night.’

Before she can go any further her window open with an ominous creek. ‘Uh oh.’ Lexa floats through the floors down to ground level, peering out the window to see three whirling storms approach the front door and coalesce into Anya, Raven and Octavia. They’re carrying trophies, cash and cigars, and Octavia is wearing a horse wreath around her neck. They’re all looking more ghostly than usual, their human forms almost gone, and their faces smooth and round from their haunting fun.

‘Ah man,’ Raven laughs. ‘Those ponies sure do make it down the track quick with our pretty faces comin up behind em.’ She morphs into a monster pulling her lips over sharp fangs before she cracks up laughing.

Anya lights up her cigar with the tip of one finger. ‘Yeah, well while you squares were playing horsey with the breathers I was in their files messing up the race accounts, shifting a bit of money about.’ She sighs, blowing smoke rings into the air. ‘There’s nothing like screwing with The Man to keep a girl young.’

Octavia blows Anya’s smoke into Raven’s face with a grin. ‘You need to open a newspaper An, the whole country’s The Man now.’

Anya scowls at her. ‘And since when have you read a newspaper, Seabiskit?’

Raven smacks Anya over the head with her racing guide. ‘Anya, leave my girl alone. I’ll have you know that this,’ she gestures at Octavia’s accessory. ’Is the new fall line for horseys.’

Octavia sticks her tongue out at both of them. ‘If you want to go for a ride Raven, you only need to ask.’ She takes off the wreath, flinging it out into the yard so that it hooks a statue with enough force it smashes to the ground. Octavia and Raven both shout ’Fore!’ in unison and high five.

Lexa takes the chance to pop through the door while they’re on a high note. ‘Hey, guys. Did you have fun?’

‘Well on a scale from one to ten,’ Octavia starts.

‘Ten being fun, and one being you.’ Raven picks up the thread of her joke.

‘Yeah, we had fun,’ Octavia finishes.

Anya doesn’t laugh with them. ‘So Little Lex, you got dinner for us or what?’ She moves for the door but Lexa blocks her way.

‘Hey, I was thinking why don’t you guys stay out here and I’ll bring dinner to you. Alfresco style on such a beautiful night.’ Her awkward laugh trails off and all three ghosts stare at her.

‘You wouldn’t be keeping us from the house n now would you Alexandria?’ Raven peers past her like she might be able to see through the door as easily as they can see through each other.

‘No, not at all, I just thought—‘

Without warning Raven slips her hand through Lexa’s torso and pulls her in, folds Lexa in half then half again to mould her into a ball shape. ’Now Lexa, you know you’re a terrible liar.’ Lexa tries to deny lying but her stomach is in her mouth. ‘Why would you try to keep us out _and_  lie about it?’ Raven sighs in disappointment then punts the ball of Lexa over to Octavia.

Octavia dribbles Lexa against the ground a few times. ‘We love you, Lexa really. Just don’t get in our way next time.’ Lexa is bounced to Raven and back again before Octavia squeezes one end of her then the other, stretches her out like a rubber band to fling her high into the sky.

//

Clarke can hear shouts and banging from outside her closet. ‘Mom,’ she calls out again. ‘Abby, what’s happening?’ She throws herself at the door when she hears Abby yell out. She can feel her shoulder bruising but keeps going until finally the door gives. She stumbles out and to her horror is met with a new, smirking ghost.

‘I don’t think so.’ The ghost hip-checks Clarke right back into the dark space again. The door locks and the ghost shouts out to someone else. ‘Hey ladies. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a closet case here.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Clarke kicks the door and then yelps in pain as she manages to stub her toe even in her tough hiking boots. ‘Thats not even funny.’ There’s more bangs and yelling and Clarke thinks she might even hear sword fighting. She charges at the door once more when she hears Lexa’s voice through the door. The lock gives, she sees Lexa on the other side and there’s nothing she can to stop herself falling onto a very solid ghost.

‘It’s okay, I’ve got you.’ Lexa peers down at Clarke where she’s fallen against her chest which feels soft as a pillow.

Clarke scrambles to her feet and sprints toward Abby’s voice ignoring Lexa calling out after her. On the foyer steps she finds Abby facing off against three ghosts including the one that had shoved her back into the closet. She shouts for their attention then immediately trips over the cord of a vacuum cleaner.

  
Lexa watches, helpless as Clarke helps Abby wield the vacuum like a spirit vanquishing machine. Anya falls into the sucking mouth first and Abby laughs as Raven falls though next. Octavia tries to slip away but she isn’t quick enough, she claws at the air, flows down the tube and disappears. Muffled voices come from the bag. ‘Raven, your hand does not need to be there.’

Abby drops the vacuum and takes Clarke’s hand. ‘Let’s go regroup,’ she says.

‘Ha, yeah,’ Clarke lets out a shaky laugh and they both run down the stairs and out the door.

  
Lexa drifts to the floor feeling empty. The house is still lit up but it’s so quiet again like Clarke had never been there. She wipes away a tear that isn’t there, loneliness bringing back those human habits she’d half forgotten. She looks at both her hands, the red of the carpet showing clear through them. Not enough fingers, she remembers. And there are meant to be lines on her palms aren’t there?

‘Why so sad, Little Lex?’ Anya slides down next to her, drifting above the stairs with her arms hooked behind her head. ‘You don’t need those bone-bags. Not when you’ve got us.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Lexa sniffs the same way that she wiped her cheeks.

‘Ya know I don’t think you were this much of a crybaby when we were alive.’ She turns over to knock Lexa’s shoulder with a fist and look her in the eye.

‘I don’t think you were this mean when we were alive,’ Lexa retorts her voice low and sad.

‘Hey, hey Little Lex. We didn’t mean anything by all that. We were just playing.’ Lexa shrugs, not looking at her. ‘If it makes you feel any better, we’ll play nice with the dear Doctor next time, okay?’

‘Oh, yeah I’ll play nice.’ Raven smirks as she tugs Octavia from the vacuum bag.

‘Gross, Ray,’ Octavia grimaces as she finally pulls free.

Lexa shakes her head. ‘What next time? They’re gone.’ She gestures toward the closed front door. ‘You scared them off. Like always.’

Anya smiles. ‘Guess again, kid.’ Lexa looks at her, confused and Anya rolls her eyes. ‘Go take a look.’

Lexa huffs a sigh but does as she’s told, drifting to the window above the door. She can see the ocean from her, but she can also see the driveway with Abby’s car still there. Abby is nodding off in the front with Clarke laying across the backseat, a blanket wrapped around her. They’re staying.

//

Lexa wakes early the next morning and the car is still there. It’s all she can do not to burst into a cloud of confetti with how excited she is. Clarke has stayed. Anya promised they’ll be nice, and maybe she can have a second chance.

Clarke leaves the car first and slips into the house wielding a hand-held vacuum. Lexa can’t help but find it cute. Her sisters put on a good show but a vacuum really can’t do that much against spirits who can move through walls. Lexa debates popping up to say hi again but lets Clarke find her instead.

  
The vacuum motor precedes Clarke’s arrival in the kitchen and Lexa drops everything to meet her at the door. When Lexa appears Clarke looks like she’s about to scream again so Lexa wraps herself around Clarke’s face like a scarf to muffle the sound. ‘I won’t hurt you, please just don’t scream. If you do, you’ll wake up my sisters and they get cranky in the morning. Just don’t scream and everything will be okay. Okay?’ She stretches out enough to look into Clarke’s eyes. Clarke nods and Lexa lets her go, drifting back to a more respectable distance.

‘I wasn’t going to scream,’ she says.

‘Oh.’ Lexa looks away feeling her face go opaque with embarrassment.

Clarke rubs at the chill in her cheeks. ‘You’re so cold.’

‘Well, you know how it goes in these coastal towns,’ she jokes. She sweeps over to the dining table and pulls out a chair, gesturing for Clarke to sit.

Clarke hesitates for a moment before approaching her with slow careful steps. She’s looking at Lexa, as if trying to understand exactly how she works. ‘It’s so strange. I can see right through you.’ She takes the seat and sets aside the vacuum.

‘Well I don’t have any skin, so.’ Lexa tries to keep her tone light, enjoying how Clarke looks at her, like she’s curious instead of scared. Clarke is staring and Lexa can’t help but stare right back. Clarke’s hair is a pretty blonde and a night in the car has put a loose wave into it. Lexa like the pink in her cheeks and she wonders if they’re warm to touch.

‘So what are you made of?’ Clarke’s jaw snaps shut as if embarrassed.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Lexa admits, not minding her question. ‘But I think it’s something like instinct maybe? Leftovers from that tingly feeling that you get when something is really groovy. And like, have you ever done any–.’ Clarke is laughing. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ Clarke tries to school her expression. ‘Just. You said _Groovy_.’ She shrugs. ‘I’m sorry, you were saying?’

Lexa feels like a square all over again. ‘Nevermind,’ she mutters.

Clarke doesn’t stop inspecting her. ‘Are you a girl? You sound like a girl.’

Lexa frowns. ‘What do you mean?

‘Can’t you see yourself in a mirror?’

‘Yeah of course I can.’ Lexa floats over to the reflective plate of steel over the oven. ‘Oh.’ Her eyes are cartoonishly large, her head round and smooth. She touches her rounded cheeks. ‘I guess I lost some shape these last few years.’

Clarke is watching her eyes. Like she can see every emotion Lexa is feeling, as she is feeling them. ‘What did you look like before?’

‘I can show you?’ Lexa offers. Her voice exposes the hesitation she feels. She’s not sure if she can still take her human shape. Clarke nods, her smile bright and Lexa feels that connected tug in her spirit. She closes her eyes and concentrates. She doesn’t remember her life from before but she does have flashes, images. Just enough to remember the shape of her own face and the feel of her hands holding onto someone else’s.

She opens her eyes and peers into the mirrored surface again. She’s still transparent and still a little soft around the edges, but she looks more like herself.

‘That’s amazing,’ Clarke says through a breath, staring at Lexa like she’s a miracle.

Lexa drifts closer to the tiled floor, feeling Clarke’s gaze like the weight of gravity. She touches her cheek and realises she still only has three fingers. ‘Whoops.’ Her hands becomes an insubstantial whisp again before reforming with four whole fingers and a thumb. ‘Do I look alright?’

Clarke is still staring with a wide eyed smile. ‘Lexa, you were beautiful.’

Lexa frowns at her hand which is still missing the lines of her palm. ‘Were?’

‘You don’t like past tense?’

Lexa bristles because no she doesn’t like it, but she she does like Clarke so she keeps her voice soft when she answers. ‘I’m still here aren’t I?’

Clarke lets out a light laugh and looks down at the table before glancing back up. ‘You’re right. You _are_ beautiful.’

Lexa pushes her hair away from her cheek feeling flustered. ‘I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,’ she mutters distracted by the strangeness of her own long hair even in its simple spirit form.

‘I know you weren’t.’ Clarke’s voice brings Lexa’s focus back to her. ‘I’m saying so anyway.’

 

There’s a ding and Lexa floats back to the stove. Clarke wishes she could stop staring at Lexa but what else can she do when a ghost is whipping up an elaborate breakfast right in front of her. Lexa smiles over her shoulder as she flips pancakes into a stack with a flattened palm instead of a spatula.

She really was a beautiful girl – or is, Clark thinks. It’s hard to tell how old she is but she seems to be a similar age to Clarke. At least she was before she died. The thought of this girl dying so young pulls at Clarke’s heart and she wonders what happened. The outline of her clothing is indistinct and gives little indication to time or place.

Lexa’s form loses some texture, smoothing out as she works and Clarke wonders how much effort this take her. She works through a bag of oranges in seconds and brings Clarke a glass of juice moments after that.

‘It’s fresh,’ Lexa says with a proud smile.

‘You really don’t have to do this.’

Lexa waves the protest away. ‘I want to.’ She’s so earnest sometimes it breaks Clarke’s heart.

‘Thank you.’ She observes the glass held up by Lexa’s insubstantial hands, then takes it, delicate as if a slip could see the glass fall. Her fingers brush past the cool of Lexa’s and she hesitates, reaching out for Lexa’s palm.

’It’s okay. You can.’ Lexa keeps her arm outstretched, her fingers regaining some opacity.

Clarke sets the glass aside. ‘I’ve never done this before.’ She looks down aware of the potential double meaning in her words.

When she looks up Lexa is smiling shyly but hasn’t taken her hand away. ‘Me neither.’

The distance between them shrinks until Clarke can feel the cold o’f her. ‘Can you hurt me?’ she asks flinching back.

‘No.’ Lexa’s gaze is so focused, Clarke could swear she sees green in her eyes.

‘Can I hurt you?’

Lexa shakes her head, waves of curls shifting about her face. ‘No.’

Clarke takes a shaky breath which Lexa mimics, and Clarke smiles as she’s sure Lexa doesn’t need to breathe. The last millimetres disappear, Clarke’s fingers pass through Lexa’s and a cold tingle slips over her nerves.

Clarke marvels at the interplay of real and insubstantial as they both twist their hands between them. Translucent fingertips appear past the back of Clarke’s hand and the sight is uncanny but not nearly so strange as Clarke had expected. Lexa’s fingers move intimately through her skin and she knows the fast beating of her heart has nothing to do with fear. She thinks elation is a better word for this feeling. Lexa takes her breath away.

  
When Lexa held out her hand, she’d imagined a fun experiment, not the tender intimacy of watching her hand disappear through Clarke’s. She didn’t know that Clarke’s warmth would pulse, that it would spread through her hotter and more persistent than a flame. Clarke burns through her and Lexa doesn’t think she’s ever felt so connected to life in all the years since she died.

‘How you can do this,’ Clarke twists her hand around in Lexa’s. ‘And then turn around and make something move?’

Lexa is staring at their hands but she looks up at the question. Clarke appears curious, and there’s something else in her eyes. Lexa’s gaze flicks down to see Clarke is biting her lip – as if considering some possibility Lexa is as yet unaware of. Lexa tries her best to explain. ‘I guess I just think about what I want to touch, and then I can.’

‘So you can touch anything?’ Clarke asks.

Lexa’s mind goes blank as she watches Clarke’s lips move over the question. ‘Anything I want to, yes.’

‘And do you want to?’ Clarke is staring intently at her, hand stilled between them, her breathing fast.

Lexa swallows, pulls her hand out of Clarke’s and focuses on the texture of her palm. She imagines the real and corporeal reality of skin over muscle and bone. She imagines running her fingertips over Clarke’s warm cheek and when she feels as if real nerves could lie underneath her surface she reaches out with a trembling, material hand.

Clarke hesitates all over again, her fingertips a breath away from Lexa’s. Lexa realises that she may be addicted to Clarke’s warmth. ‘Can I hurt you?’ she asks again, her voice a low husk.

Lexa answers by pressing her fingertips forward. Clarke feels even warmer like this, their hands steepled together matching fingertip for fingertip. Clarke’s skin pressed in white hot points against Lexa’s surface. Clarke breathes out a laugh and they make eye contact through the web of their fingers. Her eyes are wide with wonder and Lexa knows hers are just the same. Clarke lets their fingers slip together until their hands are linked palm to palm.

‘Cool,’ Clarke breathes out the word, and pulls away far enough for Lexa to miss the warmth.

‘Far out,’ Lexa agrees without lowering her tingling hand.

Clarke laughs again but, at Lexa’s confused look, tells her not to worry. ‘It’s pretty groovy,’ she smiles and Lexa thinks she’s teasing, their fingers twist together and Lexa knows that she doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is heavily borrowing from Casper but it's also a bit out on its own, so it'll wind in a few different directions before the end. You can blame Emclainable for this one as well. Thanks for reading!


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